


the owl in the mist

by YukinaMika



Series: 2020 [8]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Percy Jackson Fusion, Bruce and Dick too but Bruce have like no line?, Crying because I finally wrote his name as Dick and not Richard, Gen, I'd be much more discreet if I was writing about Dick with a not-capital D, Jack Drake is mentioned but he doesn't have a line?, Minor appearances of Athena and Hestia, Oh right almost forgot that Alfred is in here too, To any of my family or friends who might come across this: his name is Dick (short for Richard)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:15:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23494441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YukinaMika/pseuds/YukinaMika
Summary: When the woman in front of him moving away with a bag of baked goods, Marinette gets a good look of those grayish blue eyes and the silver brooch that resembles an owl on his breast pocket.In return, Tim finds himself staring at the silver owl brooch on the cashier’s apron and the wide gray eyes staring back at him.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Series: 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593016
Comments: 10
Kudos: 176





	the owl in the mist

Janet Drake is a businesswoman who stares down her competitions in board meetings. She is also a zealous archeologist who dedicates her time to digging sites and ancient artifacts.

Janet comes from old money and the name she holds is of a house whose roots dig deep into Gotham’s soil. She is dainty and well-read; politely pleasant in the company of her allies yet ruthless and cutthroat in the presence of her enemies. And the only thing that stops her from inheriting Drake Industries is that her father is not so open-minded to let a young and unmarried woman head a company.

But Janet is ambitious and Drake Industries has always been in her sight. Archeology might have been her passion but to do that, she needs money and Drake Industries is the quickest and surest way to get that.

So she plots and plans and in no time, she finds herself married to another colleague of hers, an archeologist-turned-businessman who rises through sheer luck alone. He takes her name and Drake Industries falls right in her grasp.

Drake Industries rises and rises and never before has their business been better and the congratulations go to Jack, who laughs and credits his wife. The others might laugh and think that Jack Drake loves his wife so much that he would credit their successes to her but Janet smiles.

She enjoys seeing their patronizing grins slip right off their face as they realize that she has them by the throat and the only thing they can do is bend to her will.

There is a woman she meets at a gala whose eyes shine as bright as stars and whose mind is as sharp as hers. They talk and talk, of ancient civilizations and the stories they left behind.

In the early morning of July, Janet wakes up to an infant’s cry and there is a basket with a swaddled babe inside on her desk.

Janet is not a fool and at the sight of the silver owl brooch, the myths she studies seem to come true right in front of her eyes: a deity and a mortal and a child of both worlds whose name still rings centuries after.

Timothy Jackson Drake, she names him. His hair is as raven as her husband’s, his words as cutting as hers and his eyes shift between blue and gray.

* * *

Tom Dupain is a baker who is in love with his crafts. Sabine Cheng is a merchant who can cut a deal with even the fussiest customer.

Tom comes from a family of bakers and like those before him, he dedicates his life to baking. He is a man of a big stature that towers over almost everyone but his heart is as soft as the dough he kneads.

Sabine comes to France seeking higher education and her family goes far, far back into the old days when the Silk Road was still bustling with merchants. She is of small stature but her decisiveness and her skills with the staff - a hobby she had back in the days that still serves her well enough in the dark alleys - makes her a formidable foe.

They met in university and their romance is still the talk of their peers. Nadja calls it a slow-burn story filled with fluffy goodness and beautiful red roses.

It is to no one’s surprise that they open a bakery. Baking is Tom’s life and Sabine has always been good at math and numbers.

Tom toils away in the kitchen, honing his crafts, pursuing the perfection that seems impossible to achieve while Sabine mans the counter, smiling beatifically as she barters and bargains, going for the throats of their competitors.

It is in no time that the name of their bakery is known throughout the city. Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie becomes the model of a successful family-run confectionery.

There is a grey-eyed woman who comes to the bakery and chats with either of them thrice a week. In the rare downtime when both are free, they would talk and talk about baking and the market and everything in-between until another guest comes in.

And one day, she stops coming and there is a little babe in a gilded basket on the front steps of the bakery in a warm spring day.

There is an owl brooch in the basket with the babe and Sabine remembers the tales she heard from her elders, of gods and goddesses who laid with mortals and of their children who carved their names into the annals of history.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng, she is named. Her hair as black as her mother’s and her heart as big as her father’s and her gray eyes sparkle with curiosity.

* * *

Jack does not remember anything about his wife’s pregnancy and Janet is happy to let the matter lay to rest. As far as she is concerned, as long as Jack proves to be a decent father to her child, his origin does not matter.

She had never entertained the idea of a child, preferring to dedicating herself to archeology and running Drake Industries to fund her travels. Taking a nine-month vacation might be appealing to anyone but Janet deems it as a waste of time and the thought of a child never comes up in her discussion with Jack. If the matter of the heir to Drake Industries came up in the future, she would rather turn to adoption or taking the most promising child under her tutelage.

Timothy’s birth is not something she foresaw but it has its advantages. Not only does she not need to take time off but also will Timothy prove to be a suitable heir to her legacy.

She will teach him all she knows, how to twist words and shape sentences, how to smile pretty and strike hard. She will guide him through the arts of making allies and eliminating foes and watch over his first steps into the big world.

“You, child, will be exceptional,” she murmurs to the sleeping babe. “You will be worthy of your legacies.”

* * *

Almost no one comments about the sudden appearance of their child and neither Sabine or Tom knows how to react. They heave a sigh of relief because how does one explain their child’s origin without going into some arguments about the authenticity of the story?

They have always thought of having a child, or perhaps two, when their business is more stable. Tom has always wanted a large family and Sabine has always had a soft spot for little kids.

They never thought their child would be one whose blood is a mix between that of the gods’ and of mortals’. Nevertheless, Marinette is theirs and they have every intention to raise her as their love and pride.

Tom will teach her baking, how to make the best cupcakes, how to time the oven perfectly so the cookies won’t burn. Sabine will teach her about money, about how to barter and bargain, about the markets and how to sustain a business. From her father, she will learn how to love so deeply like he does and from her mother, she will learn how to defend herself and those that she loves like she does.

“You, dearest, will be loved,” they whisper in the late of night. “May fortune guide your way and hope light your darkest nights.”

* * *

Tim remembers growing up in an empty house with the staffs while his parents travelling around the globe for business deals and diggings. The soft footfall of silence in the hallway and the whispers of the staffs about his parents’ whereas fill the empty void that they leave.

He remembers the rare times his mother perches him on her knees, retelling stories of the past softly in the late of the night. She speaks about heroes who rose to prominence, of names that still resound years and years after their deaths, of those who upheld their family name and lifted it even higher.

“You, one day, will be great,” she promises. “You will bring honor to our house and to your forebears, such as you name suggests.”

She speaks of the future like she has planned everything down to the letter and he suspects so. Janet Drake is organized and she plans. Contingencies are her favorites.

But Tim? For all of his potentials, he is a child still and Janet forgets that. All he wants is the warmth of a home, of love - something so foreign in the cold halls of the manor.

“As your mother’s wish, you will be great,” smiles the little girl who tends the fireplace. She seems to be part of the staffs, even though her clothes are a modest shade of brown that does not seem to fit the dress-code of the staffs of Drake Manor.

She is the only one who would listen to his babbling about his puzzles or his most recent discoveries. The others nod and tell him to move along but she smiles and sits with him, listening and patting his head when he finishes.

Tim wishes his mother would smile at him like that. He wishes his mother would pat his head the same way she does.

* * *

Marinette remembers growing up in a bakery with the lovely smell of freshly baked breads and the warmth of her parents. The laughter and the chatters of the family as they get ready for another day becomes one of her fondest memory about her early life.

She remembers the times her father showing her how to knead dough under her mother’s watchful eyes. Her mother tells her bedtime stories about heroes and her father telling her, under no circumstances, to attempt to replicate those.

“Sweetheart,” coos her mother as she smooths back her hair. “You don’t have to prove yourself. You are loved.”

“Our dear Marinette just have to grow up cheerful and bright,” says her father. “All you have to do is to live a good life, filled with happiness.”

Marinette, however, does not understand. She has heard the stories many times but she cannot, for the life of hers, figure out why her parents are so adamant against her emulating the heroes of old.

Surely play-fighting is alright, is it not? Yet why do her parents seem so worried?

“You will be loved and happy, just like your parents’ wish,” says the girl who usually sits with her when she goes to the local park to play. She must have lived nearby because every time Marinette comes to the park, she finds her.

Sometimes, she would play with her under her parents’ mindful eyes but she always seems to blend into the background when her friends from kindergarten come by. However, she always makes a habit to pat her head before Marinette leaves.

It is peaceful and Marinette wishes it can always be like this. Just her, her family and friends, happy and together.

* * *

Tim knows there is something about his birth that no one knows. He still hasn’t found out what it was yet but there is something that keeps bugging him.

There are pictures, yes but all of those are of him as a baby, when he was still swaddled in a blanket and resting comfortable in the crook of his mother’s arm. His friends talk about baby pictures, and yes, those are his but they also talk about their parents’ picture and in a show-and-tell, one even brought a picture about their mother when she was pregnant.

There is no picture of Janet Drake when she was pregnant. Which is understandable seeing as his mother is a public figure yet hates to be in the public eye and she is not the sentimental kind so the chances of her keeping a picture of her pregnancy is near to zero.

The strange thing is that it is almost as if she had shown up one day with a tiny baby and everyone - their relatives, their business partners, the media, et cetera - agreed that the baby was hers.

Janet Drake was still actively participating in meetings months prior to Tim Drake’s public appearance. She even went to an unveiling of a statue at one of Gotham’s museums just days before July 19th.

There is almost no proof about her pregnancy except for the Drakes’ words and a baby Tim. Even the staffs at the time could only give vague comments about their mistress’ newborn.

Tim, of course, has entertained the idea that he might have been adopted but there is no paper concerning his possible adoption. Every evidence he scours up suggests that no babe had been brought into Drake Manor prior to the date of his supposed birth.

Another mystery is the owl brooch that his mother insists that he wears every time he goes out. She even went as far as having it repurposed into a necklace.

“This is a gift,” his mother said, once. “Under no circumstances should you part with it.”

Tim does not understand. Janet Drake is not sentimental but why does she insist on him wearing that brooch?

He asked his father once and was told to do as his mother said.

_(He did come up with some theories as to why his mother is so adamant about that brooch. The thing might be tied to his whereas before Drake Manor and as long as he finds out where it comes from and what it means, he will find out about his origin._

_And on the list of the theories about his mysterious appearance, adoption reigns at the top of the list and then there’s the Janet-Drake-had-an-affair-or-something that might have resulted in him._

_Which is ridiculous at first but hey, polyamorous relationships exist.)_

* * *

Marinette grows into a curious child. She never asks much about her origin. She knows she is her parents’ child and that is enough.

She asks about why the sky is blue and about why doughs turn into bread. She plays with the little buttons and glue them together to make tiny figures and enacts the stories that her mother tells her with them.

Then she discovers crayons and colored pencils and she blossoms in the world of colors. She draws and draws, of animals, of plants, of people. And amongst her favorite subjects are her parents and their bakery.

She loves painting about her parents working in their bakery, smiling and laughing as they banter back and forth. She dreams of scenarios where they end up in a kingdom of baked goods and rule over bread and cakes like how they run the bakery, benevolent and fair.

And it is those daydreams that steer her toward designing. She thinks about the outfits that her parents would don should they, one day, find themselves in such predicament and brings them to life on the blank papers. From those outfits she designed just for her daydreams, she tackles sleep wears and sketches up pajamas that her parents coo over and before she knows it, she is learning how to sew.

It is until they learn about reproduction and Marinette thinks about maternity clothes that is comfortable and cute. And she comes to her parents, asking for photos of her mother during her pregnancy for preferences.

“Sorry, dear,” her mother smiles. “I’m afraid we don’t have that kind of pictures.”

“Why don’t you look it up, sweetheart?” Suggests her father. “I’m sure they will be more helpful in their diversity.”

Eh? Marinette blinks. Curious but maybe taking maternity pictures isn’t a thing for some people? Well, it’s alright if her parents don’t have that kind of pictures in their possession. After all, what’s the point of having the Internet if it isn’t used for research?

_(Later, she did have some ideas about why there is no maternity photo. Adoption is a thing and she would not put it past her parents to take in an infant._

_So what if she’s adopted? They still love her.)_

* * *

It is in the early of his career as Robin that he finds out the truth behind his birth and the reason why his mother insists on him wearing the brooch. It was, indeed, a gift like she said but she might have left out the fact that it was from a deity.

Robin has no jewelry on his body so he cannot wear it while he is out as a vigilante. He has risked it the first few times but he has come so close to losing it. He cannot risk it again. If he lost it, his mother would have had his head.

The necklace comes off, laying on his carefully folded clothes. No one would be able to break into the Batcave and no one would touch his clothes without permission. No chances of it being lost. All he has to do is to patrol, get back and put on the necklace again. No one, especially his mother, would know that he has taken it off.

“Hey-”

Whatever Nightwing wishes to say dissolves into the sudden silence and it does not take him long to realize that he is being stared at. Which is rude!

“Where did you get that?” Nightwing splutters, waving a hand at his folded clothes.

“The clothes?”

“No! That thing!” More pointing and Nightwing looks freaked out. Tim follows his finger and finds the necklace under Nightwing’s scrutiny.

“It’s mine,” he replies, a bit defensively. “Mother said it was a gift.”

“Your mother?” Nightwing is parroting and Batman just stands there, with his arms crossed. It’s almost like they are interrogating him.

“Yes, Janet Drake. You might have known her.”

His tone might have been a little bit too rigid, too scathing but did they think he have more than one mother? Everything is written in the file they, no doubt, has on him. Is there even a need to ask about that when they can just pull up the file and run a DNA test?

Also, there is no need for any interrogation. After all, there is no way his family is in any dirty dealings. He would have known if they were.

“Master Tim,” Alfred prods gently. “How much do you know about Ancient Greece?”

_(There is heavy magic on the brooch, he learns. It shrouds him nearly twenty-four-seven._

_“I have something like that,” Nightwing - no, Dick; his mask is off - says and fishes out something silvery._

_It is a brooch - because of course, it’s a brooch. The shape resembles a horn and there are something seemingly overflowing from the not-so-pointy side. Fruits?_

_“Is that a cornucopia brooch?”_

_Dick beams at him and rushes to put it on. Immediately, the air shifts and Dick seems to just, blend into the surrounding. No, it’s more like he just doesn’t stand out._

_“This was also a gift,” he says, unpinning the brooch and cradling it carefully in his hands. “From my other mother.”_

_And Tim is, by no means, a fool. No one who trains under the Bat is._

_He looks at the brooch in Dick’s hands and then at his. He remembers Alfred’s question about Ancient Greece. He thinks of his mysterious appearance that no one seems to talk about._

_Well, it is certainly not hard to connect the dots after that.)_

* * *

It is on her first year as Ladybug that she figures out why there is no photo of her mother when she was pregnant. To be honest, the answer is so far away from adoption that she has to sit down to process it.

“Oh, you are a demigoddess, Marinette,” says the little sprite-liked creature that would later be one of her closest confidants. It is like a parallel to a certain line in a certain film she has seen before.

“Excuse you,” because, she has parents, thank you very much and she would know if one of them is a deity. “I am quite sure that my parents are not whoever you are thinking of.”

Tikki, the little fairy, tilts her head and points at the brooch.

“Me wearing a brooch does not mean that I’m a demigoddess! It was a gift from a relative! And also, how dare you! Are you instigating that one of my parents cheated!”

Because, cheating is the only thing that could result in her if she is, indeed, a demigoddess as Tikki said. And no, she has seen her parents and they are very in love with each other. Heck, the idea of her being a child from a prior marriage is almost non-existent as she was born three years after their marriage.

“I’m not saying that one of your parents cheated,” Tikki says. “Some people can’t even see through the veil that shields us. Your parents might be one of those.”

Veil? What veil?

“And honestly, no one cheated if we go by that,” Tikki reassures, waving a paw at the silver thing on the lapel of her coat. “A brooch in the shape of an owl - the sacred animal of Athena.”

“Excuse me but what?”

_(Tikki tells her about the veil that was called the Mist. It is, according to her, a part of something bigger and it shrouds magical beings from mortal eyes._

_She also learns that the owl brooch is enchanted and that there is a layer of the Mist over her whenever she has it on. Tikki explains that it is the brooch that shields her against monsters - yes, they are real - and limits her ability to see through the mist._

_Basically, it is a defensive protocol, keeping Marinette under the radar of those flesh-eating monsters. She can’t see them and they can’t see her but that is an essential sacrifice for her safety._

_Also, good to know that those self-defense lessons her mother insisted her on taking would come into handy.)_

* * *

The Mist, as Dick calls it, shrouds many things. It is, according to Bruce, the only thing that protects the fragile mind of mortals.

“However,” Alfred injects quietly. “There are some whose veins possess not a single drop of inchor yet can see more clearly than those with godly descent.”

They put a dagger in his hands. Because monsters cannot be killed, permanently, at least. It is Alfred who tells him that because both Bruce and Dick look uncomfortable at the prospect.

“Master Timothy,” the old butler says, all prim-and-proper but also earnest in his words. “Your reluctance to take lives is admirable but if you ever find yourself between a rock and a hard place, know that no one will give you grievances for vanquishing a creature of the Pit.”

“But I thought we had a no-killing code?”

“Young sir,” and Alfred’s eyes are so sad that he has to hold himself back from apologizing because Alfred is still speaking. “Monsters do not die. They only return to the Pit and will, one day, rise again. They are like the criminals you put away every night and the Pit is their personal Arkham.”

He is excused from patrol for the rest of the week and Dick frequently shoots him a concerned look and Bruce avoids him until he returns from the short forced vacation.

_(Janet Drake is an atheist yet she gave her son a name that honors God._

_“I had hoped that you would realize sooner,” his mother says, as cutting as always, when he finally gathers the courage to approach her. “I expect better from you, Timothy but better late than never.”_

_The air is charged with tension as she presents a short sword._

_“You are born for greatness,” she speaks, giving him a critical once-over. “Use this to protect yourself.”_

_Janet Drake lacks a mother’s touch but her love is in the blade that she hands her son. A tool, a weapon for her legacy.)_

* * *

There is another world beneath the veil of the Mist and it both fascinates and scares her. Magic is real, which is so awe-inspiring that Marinette just wants to dwell into its mechanics and thousands of rules but the monsters are also real and it terrifies her.

To think that there are people whose future were robbed because of them…

“You will be fine,” Tikki assures her. “Normally the smell of those who know is more potent than that of those who don’t. However, with the brooch and my Miraculous, you will be shielded.”

Those words bring her comfort but they also bring a sadness. She will be fine because she is a bearer of a Miraculous but what about those like her who aren’t?

“You can’t protect everyone,” Tikki says and her eyes are like depthless lakes of the darkest blue. It is almost as if she is reliving some memories from the far past.

Hubris might be the most common fatal flaw of heroes of the past and the present. It was pride that brought down mighty men and women and her mother has especially warned her of it but-

“Even if I can’t, I will still try my best,” she vows, staring directly at the fear in Tikki’s eyes. She would apologize but Tikki deserves honesty and she respects her too much to lie to her.

And on her next transformation, the thread of her yoyo glows in a coppery light.

_(Her parents sit her down just a few weeks after Ladybug’s appearance._

_“I know,” she says and watches as something both hard and soft fills their eyes. “Regardless, I am still your daughter.”_

_Her father pulls her into an embrace while her mother cries and pushes a dagger into her hands._

_“We have done everything we can to prepare you for this,” her father admits between sobs. “We have but I wish we didn’t have to.”_

_“Don’t be afraid, dear,” her mother joins the embrace with a small hiccup. “We have prepared you for this day but whenever you need help, know that you can always find it here.”_

_Her hands shake but she nods. This is her parents’ love in the form of preparation for the future and the offer of support in trying times._

_She is scared but her parents are with her. It makes her feel both better and worst.)_

* * *

The Mist is incorporated into his studies and turns out, there are things Batman cannot do. One of those is manipulating the Mist.

It is ironic that the man who spends so much time blending into the shadows and casts doubt onto the existence of the notorious Batman would fail to bend the Mist to his command. It soon falls to Dick and Alfred to teach him how to use the Mist to aid his work.

And Tim excels at it.

“There are certain people who has a strong affinity with the Mist,” Dick tells him over dinner on a rooftop, both in the gears and leaning against each other. “Some mortals have clearer sights than demigods and they can even becomes practitioners of magic.”

Looking back, that might have been one of the reasons why the little sword-swinging, grapple-line-cutting gremlin detests him so much. Wounded pride, because his manipulation of the Mist is passable at best and horrible at worst, on top of whatever the League of Assassins fed him.

The murder attempts started when Bruce was still around - ‘alive’, the others would say. And with Bruce lost, not ‘dead’, regardless of what the others say, things go to hell.

Sorry, to Hades… Or whatever…

“You are grieving,” they tell him, like he doesn’t know. This year, to him, has been a train wreck of the worst degree and one does not need to be a genius to know that he is grieving even before Bruce’s disappearance.

Sure, he is grieving but his mind is sound. If it wasn’t, can he - slamming a pile of documents and charts onto the table - do this?

He has proofs to back his claims and is ready to gear up and retrieve their lost partner. If no one is going to do it, he will.

And then, the gremlin comes in. In a modified suit in Robin’s colors.

What is the word that Alfred sharply disapproves that has four words and starts with an F?

_(There is a hand on his shoulder when he stands amidst the trashed room. His room, trashed by his hands._

_He jerks and turns around and what greets him is the young girl who used to tend the fireplace at Drake Manor. Immediately, his eyes narrow because she does not look a year older than she was when she was still tending Drake Manor’s fireplace._

_“Who are you?” He really should remove her hand but he just doesn’t. Bruce must be rolling in his proverbial grave._

_She gives him a smile and reaches up to brush back his bangs. A gesture so strange that it leads to him holding his breath and trembling under her touch._

_The girl pulls back and immediately retracts her hands with something akin of sorrow on her face._

_“You have grown, little one,” she casts her eyes over the ruined furniture and her eyes seems to be blazing furnaces. “If only we could meet on better terms…”_

_“Again, I ask. Who are you?” His dagger is left at the Cave, beyond his reach but the short sword - his mother’s love - is to the right, just within his reach and his collapsible bō staff is to his left._

_The moment she gives out her identity, he would know which to dive for._

_“You, certainly, are your mother’s son,” muses the little girl and he tenses, preparing to dive for the sword._

_Janet Drake might have rivals but none of them would be able to sneak into Wayne Manor and into his room without tripping over some alarms. Unless she had some shady dealings that Tim does not know…_

_That leaves his other mother. The one he has never met before._

_“Dear grandnephew, I mean you no harm. I only seek to offer some advices.”_

_Well, this time he doesn’t censor himself and his grandaunt seems pleasantly amused.)_

* * *

The Mist shifts to occupy the mind of mortals, she soon learns. Tikki guides her, not only as Ladybug but also as a demigoddess living in the modern age.

“It is a double-edged blade,” the tiny goddess says. “Just as you can use it to aid you, it can also be turned against you.”

Marinette, whose life compasses of her friends and family, designing and Ladybug, has nodded along. She already has her duties as a bearer of the Miraculous of Creation so Tikki has, basically, called dibs on her.

“You probably won’t take on any quest,” explains Tikki, waving a little paw in the air. “You are, technically, my champion. Deities are touchy about their champions and they often don’t go out of their way to interact with those outside of their pantheon. Once you become the Guardian, the chances of you going on a quest is, virtually, zero.”

She didn’t think she would ever meet another demigod, or even be in the close proximity of one. Or anyone who descends from a deity really.

Contrary to her beliefs, she met one - a legacy. And there is no love lost between them.

Lila Rossi, according to Tikki, has an ancestor who was a demigod. That, perhaps, is the only reason why no one but a few can see through her lies. Marinette has a theory that she might be a descendant of Hecate and might be able to unconsciously bend the Mist.

“It was centuries ago,” Tikki says. “She probably doesn’t fall onto the radar of the monsters. Her scent, to them, is likely the same as a mortal’s.”

And it is frustrating that the Mist that veils Ladybug is pitted against her.

In other words, Lila Rossi, as horrible she is with her lies and underhanded ways, can manipulate the Mist better than Marinette can. And Lila doesn’t even do it consciously.

Marinette has checked, thank you very much. Lila’s sight is certainly limited but her affinity for the Mist, however, is not.

So it was not that much of a surprise when Lila framed her of cheating a test and stealing her oh-so-precious heirloom and the majority believed her.

Ok, it was a surprise but Marinette should have taken this into account.

And that is also a reminder that her parents can see through the Mist. Her mother, mostly though her father’s sight isn’t really that limited.

“That girl did something!” Her father rages as he prepares dinner. His voice is loud enough to carry into the living room where her mother and her are sitting in. “Dear, she isn’t good news!”

Her mother squeezes her shoulders through the thick blanket they draped over her the moment they made it back to their home. The bakery downstairs is closed as soon as they got her settle into the couch.

“You know we believe you, don’t you, sweetheart?” asked her mother.

Marinette remembers the memory of blood pounding in her ears and Hawkmoth’s purr of ‘Princess Justice’. There was another name; a new one: ‘Verity Queen’.

“Of course, Mama.”

_(There is a visitor after dinner._

_The little girl who used to play with her when Marinette was still a child is waiting for her when she returns from the bath. Tikki is scowling at the girl as she hovers near her desk._

_“You have grown,” smiles the little girl. She is dressed as she always was, casual with just a dress and a hoodie. There is something intense in her eyes yet instead of fear, all Marinette feels is ease._

_It is almost as if she was a child again, without the weight of responsibility for an entire city on her shoulders. Except she has grown and is now a teenaged girl whereas this friend of hers looks around the same age as she was when she stopped coming to the park._

_“It has been a long time, grandniece.”_

_Tikki hisses and Marinette swears silently.)_

* * *

The bell on the front door rings as a teenager slips inside the bakery quietly. He blends easily into the horde of people coming in for lunch rush, quickly choosing a sandwich and some muffins before heading to the line at the check-out.

When the woman in front of him moves away with a bag of baked goods, Marinette gets a good look of those grayish blue eyes and the silver brooch that resembles an owl on his breast pocket.

In return, Tim finds himself staring at the silver owl brooch on the cashier’s apron and the wide gray eyes staring back at him.

_Well, this is awkward..._

**Author's Note:**

>  ~~You can know who's older by the order of the parts. ~~~~~~  
> 
> 
> I can finally cross this out off my writing list! If I keep this pace, hopefully I can clear my list by the end of the year.
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated.


End file.
